


You showed me how to love like a spark in the night (and not be afraid)

by underbellamy



Category: The 100
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Some Fluff, Titanic AU, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underbellamy/pseuds/underbellamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke never would have thought she would find love on the Titanic, though it was called the ship of dreams.</p><p>And Bellamy never thought he would meet any kind of love. He believed in connection, not love. It was childish, something his little sister had believed in. Something he never would.</p><p>But that all changed when he met Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> WHOLE STORY EDITED/REVISED 10/24/17: STORY NAME CHANGED FROM “SEALED PROMISE” to “You showed me how to love like a spark in the night (and not be afraid)”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _What is it which makes a man and a woman know that they, of all other men and women in the world, belong to each other? Is it no more than chance and meeting? no more than being alive together in the world at the same time? Is it only a curve of the throat, a line of the chin, the way the eyes are set, a way of speaking? Or is it something deeper and stranger, something beyond meeting, something beyond chance and fortune? Are there others, in other times of the world, whom we should have loved, who would have loved us? Is there, perhaps, one soul among all others--among all who have lived, the endless generations, from world's end to world's end--who must love us or die? And whom we must love, in turn--whom we must seek all our lives long--headlong and homesick - until the end? **\-- Robert Nathan.**_

* * *

 

**Prologue**

Love, starts in all shapes and sizes.

Sometimes it starts out small; like a baby deer first learning to walk on its own hoofs. Stumbling through the grass, falling once or twice from its shaky unstable delicate legs. Slowly but surely — through time and patience, standing tall. It's legs moving one after the other on instinct, strength building more and more until it's gracefully prancing through the forest. This kind of love is soft, patient, delicate and shy.

And sometimes it starts out big; like a clash of lightening rumbling in the sky during a forming hurricane. It suddenly striking the tallest tree tops, with fires igniting all around in ferocious flames. The flames spread, become bigger and bigger — and even when it calms, there would be clear devastation of where the fire took place. Only to have it happen all over again, lightening striking somewhere else. Because lightening never strikes the same place twice. And this kind of love is unpredictable, strong, lustful, and passionate.

For Bellamy and Clarke — it was somewhere in between. A deer born during a storm, a storm that started out slow but soon turned into a hurricane. The deer full of fear, trying to stand — trying to pick itself up while the fire raged around it. The deer wanted to run away as the flames grew but once it finally had stood. The deer wasn't afraid anymore. It wasn't afraid because the flames weren't something to fear — it was something to explore. It was misunderstood. The fire wasn't harmful, it was warm. Like a blanket, a blanket full of security. The deer wasn't vulnerable anymore, it felt strong and protected. And that's what their love was. Bellamy was the fire, and Clarke was the deer.

Their love was unexpected to say the least.

Clarke never would have thought she would find love on the Titanic, though it was called the ship of dreams.

And Bellamy never thought he would meet any kind of love. He believed in connection, not love. It was childish, something his little sister had believed in. Something he never would.

But that all changed when he met Clarke.

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy Blake liked to think he was a man of action.

He grew up in poverty. His mother worked three jobs just to keep food on the table for him and his sister. As soon as he turned 15 years old, he got a job too just to help take care of his sister working at a mail delivery company that paid him under the table slim to nothing. He went from house to house by bike almost everyday, sometimes missing days of school just so his mother wasn’t working herself to the grave to provide for them.

Bellamy knows he would have lived in poverty probably for the rest of his life if it wasn’t for the opportunity his mothers “friend” had presented him at 18 years old. (He has a feeling the only reason he was presented the chance was because of what his mother did for him in his bed the night prior.) The man was a decorated officer of one of the ships he sees take off every few months at the port with hundreds and sometimes thousands of traveling passengers. 

When Bellamy looked at those ships, the only kind of job that would be provided to him, he’d think, would be a servant or someone who worked in the boiler room. Never did he think he’d be a lieutenant. 

After a lot of convincing from his mother, Bellamy took the opportunity. At first Bellamy refused the man in spite of the fact his mother had to sleep with him like some kind of bargaining chip to ensure Bellamy had a good future with this occupation. He knows his mother sometimes did resort to prostitution to take care of them, that’s why Bellamy had been working 2 jobs at 18 so she wouldn’t come home with bruises on her wrists. She had practically begged him to agree, saying she didn’t want this kind of life for him. A life full of heartache and struggle, this way he could take care of them and his future family. (He knows his future didn’t look so bright and financially promising, especially since he barely had an education to show for) 

It was that thought alone that made him shove down his pride and reluctantly give in.

For years he worked hard to become the man he was, and the man he knew he needed to be to survive in this world.

By the age of 24, Bellamy was an officer of the Titanic. Lieutenant Bellamy Blake.

His job was to keep order, and protect the passengers of the ship. He had hopes that one day if he went higher in his rankings, and earned more privlidges, he could be able to bring his little sister Octavia to see the world like he had been doing for months now. He knew she would love it. (His mother would too, if she were still alive)

This job was important to him, it kept Octavia in boarding school and what better way of having an occupation then traveling the ocean, around the world?

He was overall content, though there were times he found himself missing his sisters playful teasing and missing connections he’d have with women from here and there when he gets time off the ship. (Nothing ever serious of course, but serious was never something Bellamy really thought about, he thinks he would if he met someone he liked enough maybe that would change) He finds himself sometimes longing to have someone beside him lying in bed, their warmth radiating off his skin making him feel less lonely then he covers himself up to be.

And then there was Clarke. Clarke, was one of the privileged. She grew up with old and new money, never having to work a day in her life, but if given the chance, Clarke knows she would. She voluntarily helped her mother in the hospital every once in a while, and lovers to learn new things. She enjoyed feeling useful and productive. 

What she didn’t enjoy was being pushed into every suitor her mother laid her eyes on that had wealth. Clarke has dated here and there in her 18 years, but only a few of them has she every truly felt like she could have one day married.

One of them was a man named Finn. He ended up using her as The Other Woman, and cheated on his fiancé (a lovely woman named Raven) with Clarke without either of them knowing. Clarke ended that immediately, and her mother squashed the scandal before it got out and ruined Clarke (and hers) reputation. 

The other was with a woman named Lexa, she was the reason that Clarke came out as liking not only men but also woman. Which was something society of this time rejected. It was a kept secret between her and Lexa since it was so frowned upon. The relationship between them didn’t last long. She broke up with Clarke after Lexa’s mother found out about their relationship, and forbidded them from seeing each other any longer. Instead of disownment, she found a husband for her to marry. Lexa had the choice to choose Clarke and be disowned, or choose to live a wealthy life with a man she will never love.

” _I’m sorry, Clarke. I have to make this decision with my head, and not my heart.”_

After that heartbreak, Clarke decided she never wanted to love again. (Though she did yearn for it.)

For girls like Clarke, her life was planned out from the very start. She wasn't allowed to live out her childhood, or be on the rebellious side — she was brought up to be a lady, a lady that would soon be paired with a wealthy husband of her mothers choosing. And Clarke finally had accepted that after her heart broke for the last time.

Moving to New York with her mother to start over was her mother’s idea. Rumors got out about Clarke and Lexas romance, (her mother never did try to confirm those rumors with Clarke, perhaps she wanted to pretend they weren’t true and live in ignorant bliss) and combined with other rumors about her being soiled by a man already betrothed did not help the Griffin Lady representation. Especially after her fathers death. Abby Griffin knew it was time to leave Arkadia. 

It was in Clarke’s best interest to find a husband and continue the Griffin legacy. That was what they had planned since she was a little girl. The titanic would take her to what her future would be. It was terrifying — but not as much as her feelings for Bellamy Blake were.

Intimacy was never something Clarke had a problem with (even though ladies of her standing should usually be more conservative of it) but now it terrified Clarke, she had not given her virginity to Finn, nor Lexa, but she still gave a peice of herself to them she couldn’t get back. The idea of doing that again was something that made Clarke want to run all over again. 

But that all changed when she met Bellamy.

Their story started out on the deck of the ship not to long after departure. 

Bellamy was on the high deck, (per usual) overlooking the passengers and the oceans horizon in front of him. Clarke had been passing the bottom deck to the dinning hall for morning tea when she saw him perched up there, his chin held high his face set in deep thought as his eyes watched the oceans view ahead.

She swore she had spotted an angel. It was early in the morning, the sun peaking above the ship the sun behind him reflecting off his uniform and his hat laid on his sheer black curls. His skin was bronzed against his black uniform with golden seams and buttons. She was in a trance by him, because by god — he was beautiful. Something about him was so alluring, maybe it was the thought of all his authority he expressed, or the confidence in his strong broad stance, or maybe the hint of wonder as he stared into the horizon. She longer to pick up a paint brush and depict the exact scene, it was perfect.

Clarke had been so focused on the officer that she hadn't been watching where she was going, accidentally bumping into a waiter that was delivering champagne glasses to the first class guests on deck. There was a clash.

That certainly got his attention.

She gasped and watched in horror as the drinks tumbled off the tray, shattering to the wooden floor. The alcohol spilled on the poor fellow (and a little on her but that was the least of her worries) "I'm _so_ sorry!" She apologized, a look of guilt and shock that she just did that. How could she be so foolish?

He kept assuring her over and over again saying it was quite alright, that there was no need to apologize leaning down to pick up the mess. She did as well, and she swore she could hear her mothers voice in her head in a scold for doing such a thing. "Let me help you," she insists, "This is all my fault, I should have been more aware of my surroundings." She rambled, trying to pick up the shards of glass while he kept telling her she didn't need to help and that it was okay. But she continued insisting.

One of Clarke’s best and worst qualities (really depends from your point of view really), is she was stubborn, something she got from her mother. Passengers eyes peeled on her back, upper class sneering at the sight, gaping that she would do such a thing. But that was Clarke. She would help anyone in need, no matter the wealth standing, and she most certainly wouldn't leave a mess that she helped make for someone else to clean up. Screw social classes.

"Is everything okay here?" A deep voice voice commanded above them.

Clarke quickly snapped her head up at the voice, her eyes connecting with the deep brown ones that were once trained on the horizon. It was the officer above the deck, she couldn't help but wonder to herself how he got down here so quick but quickly brushed the thought off when he raised a disapproving eyebrow, but not at the waiter like she would expect —but at _her_. He questionably glanced from both Clarke and the young man who seemed to be stammering nervously trying to explain the situation.

"It was my fault," Clarke interjected, making the young man go quiet, they're eyes both set on her. Clarke swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes still on the officer standing above them. She suddenly felt so small, intimidated by him which was a feeling she always hated. (She liked to consider herself head strong so when moments like these happen she feels weak.) He was much taller than she initially thought. His face was hard and his eyes stern as she continued. "I wasn't watching where I was going, and I bumped into him." She glanced at the young man, "I was just helping him clean up." She explained, her voice starting to disappear in her throat from his piercing stare. Never the less she did her best to raise her chin, even though all she wanted to do was shrink into herself.

He stared at her a minute more in silence, slowly starting to nod surveying the blonde, something behind his brown eyes threatened to soften at her kindness. Kindness that higher class rarely showed.

He shook off the feeling, Clearing his throat holding out his hand for her to take, "It's not necessary for a young lady such as yourself to be on her knees to pick up a mess." She stared at his large hand, frowning. A part of her wanted to take it, if not just to feel the warmness of another mans hand. Specifically his. (She may or may not be a little touch starved)  Yet another part was resistant, this was her fault — she would feel terrible if she left him here like this. "It won't be the first time and certainly not the last he has to pick up a mess that’s not his own, princess." He added having of noticed her inner distress. She almost jolted at his nickname, _princess_? She found offense to it, but didn't bother to act on it. "Besides, you wouldn't want to ruin that dress of yours, I'm sure it's fabric is more than my pay check." he practically sneers.

Her frown deepened, and she wanted to so badly demand what he meant by that, and why he has suddenly a harsh opionion of her so fast but she remembers how shallow everyone in first class is. She has to suffer by dining with them every morning and night, so yeah, she gets his bitterness even if it is directed at her. And she would hate to admit it, but he was right, Her mother _would_  have her head if there was a stain on this dress. And she honestly didn't want to have to explain to her what had just happened moments ago due to her stupidity. She hesitantly stared at his hand, reluctantly reaching up slowly placing her hand in his, pausing before pressing into his palm.

A wave of electricity and fire blazed around her skin that touched him. His fingers gently closed, and she noticed just how big his hands were compared to hers. She had to fight back a blush, because it would be impolite and none the less embarrassing if he seen how flustered she felt just by his touch. He helped her up, and she stood, yet she still felt utterly small compared to his tall figure.

He let go of her hand, letting it fall by his side and she almost wished he hadn't let go. His hands were so warm, and they were working hands by the feel of the rough calluses. Yet, his touch was so gentle compared to his hard daggering eyes. The feeling of him lingered on her hand as she fidled with her fathers watch on her wrist, something she does when she’s nervous.

Clarke didn't know what to say now, maybe because she was still intimidated by the officer, especially the bitterness he harnessed towards her, misplaced she thinks. 

"Do you need to be escorted to your destination?" He asked, his lips still in a stoic expression. It made her wonder if he ever got to really smile. He looked like he had a great smile, and god — his cheek bones would be marvelous to paint as a portrait. 

She quickly shook her head, drowning her other thoughts. "No, no, that won't be necessary." She replied, moving her eyes to the fellow who was trying to hastily pick up the mass of glass and alcohol content.

Clarke sighed, taking out her handkerchief and handing it to the waiter, still feeling utterly guilty and useless since this cloth could barley do a thing. But it was better than nothing. "Here — take this, you can use it to clean yourself up.” She zeroes in on his name tag before continuing. “I really am terribly sorry, Jasper, and I hope this wasn’t too much of an inconvenience." She offered sincerely, as the young man slowly took it from her, surprise laced behind his brown eyes that she would give him something such as that, or anything at all especially with caring enough to use his name. She smiled softly at him, turning to the officer whose was carefully watching the exchange.

The officers chestnut eyes were clouded in something she couldn't place. They were soft at the corners, the dark brown flecks conveying something she hadn't been known to see. And certainly something she wouldn't expect to see on him, especially from his (not so) subtle bitterness towards her; Admiration.

He composed himself, standing up straight again. Clarke lifted her chin up, "Nice meeting you.." She trailed off, her eyes moving to the gold badge on his right side of his chest, with _"Lieutenant Blake"_ encrypted on it. "Lieutenant Blake." She finished.

He nodded, his jaw ticking with his hands behind his back in a proper manner.

Clarke stared at him a moment longer, so curious to know what was going on in his head. Though, she knew she never would. (Or so she thought)

She ripped her eyes away from him, finally walking away from the scene, feeling Lieutenant Blake's eyes boring into her backside. Right as she turned to corner, she paused in her stride, slowly turning her head to look back at the officer. Her heart fumbled in her chest, her breath hitching when she sees him helping the waiter clean up the mess. His body language was more relaxed than with his presence, patting the waiters shoulder with a small grin, as an old friend would do. Perhaps they knew eachother? Or perhaps Lieutenant Blake was just a man that also didn't let social class reflect his judgment on others either.

She turned away while a small smile climbed to her face.

With a man like him, she would have thought he walked away, maybe even scolded him — but in pleasant surprise, he helped instead. It made her wonder what else he hid, what else he was misunderstood for because of his hard demeanor. Maybe this officer wasn't as intimidating or stoic as she initially thought.

That came to show when Lieutenant Blake found Clarke again, but this time she was leaving the dining hall from one of the Titanic's evening halls.

Clarke always hated these functions, having to dress up like you were going to see the queen of England, pretending you have more money than you already do, throwing on a fake smile, fake attitude — fake everything. It was suffocating to her. She wished she could just wear whatever dress she wanted, let her hair down and prance around to upbeat music playing like third class did. (She always heard the thumping of music and laughter from below the decks, it made her yearn to experience the joyful ness of it all.)

The dress she had on was a dark blue, (barley hard to breath in) off the shoulder v-neck that exposed a little of her cleavage. The gown was all the way down to her heels, she had to hold it up whenever she walked because she would trip over herself. Her blonde hair was up in a curled bun, the diamond rose broach holding stray tendrils back.

Her ears were feeling like they were about to fall off from the heavy dangling diamond earrings her mother made her wear. Clarke could swear her lobes were being stretched.

The only thing she had liked was her simple silver necklace, a thin chain with a small dark blue emerald heart her father had given her years ago for her 13th birthday. It wasn't a real diamond, not that her mother would tell anyone otherwise. Clarke could care less what was real and what was not, her father gave it to her and that's all the reason she needed to wear it. The same went for his old watch, Clarke wore it everyday and her mother gave up on trying to get her to take it off for events like tonight no matter the judgmental looks she would get as others eyes would linger on her wrist seeing a chunky watch instead of a carrot gold bracelet like other woman there.

Clarke had excused herself early on from the dinner, coming up with a fib that she was feeling unwell because of sea sickness. The real reason was they were all making her sick with their fowl words about other passengers and lower class. Just because they had money didn't mean they were better than everyone else. Clarke was about to explode if she stayed any longer, preferably exploding at all the rich bastards who do nothing but put others down.

She walked out the double doors, smiling politely at the bell boys who opened them for her, thanking them.

As she started to walk down the halls, she heard a familiar voice her heart skipping a beat in her chest. "Excuse me, miss!" The deep voice had called. She turned around to see Lieutenant Blake jogging after her, holding the edge of his hat visor so it wouldn't fly off.

She found herself bewildered as he ceased in front of her. He cleared his throat, adjusting his hat on top his head his curls starting to peak out underneath. (His eyes retrained from scanning down her figure, because jesus christ she looked breathtaking.) "Is there a problem, Officer?" She inquired, some concern and uncertainty whirling around the lightness of her blue eyes that stood out even more vibrant due to the dress she had been wearing. (It took Bellamy a few brief moments to understand what she had said, her eyes were absolutely breathtaking and to to mention distracting.)

He shook his head in reply, “No ma’me,” he reached inside of his pocket, sliding a folded white fabric. "I — um," He paused, cleading his throat, his fingers gripping the soft cloth in hesitation before holding it out, Clarke immediately recognized it as her handkerchief. "I believe this belongs to you." His eyes looked a bit nervous, and frustrated with himself. (because why did she have to make him this nervous? Why did he have to give this to her when she looked like _that_?)

Clarke stared at the cloth in confusion. She remembered giving it that waiter when she had bumped into him. She didn't expect to get it back, I mean — it was just a handkerchief. Though, she didn't want to feel rude saying such a thing since he took the time to return it to her, which she has no idea why. But none the less, it was — sweet.

Clarke slowly collected it from him, careful not to touch his hand in case that same feeling of fire igniting all around her skin. "Thank you." She murmured, eyeing him carefully as she held it. She realized it was clean now, so he must have washed it. From what her brain was gathering; he helped the waiter, took the handkerchief, washed it, kept it until he found her again to give it back to her? And how long had he been here?

To answer that question, a few agonizing hours. Bellamy for the past two days, had that handkerchief in the same pocket safely tucked away. Since he was always on duty, it came to be difficult to find Clarke so he could give it back to her. He didn't know why he felt like he had an obligation to return it, it wasn’t like it was given to him.

He didn't understand why he practically snatched it from the waiter Jasper when he went to throw it out. He didn't know why he felt so uneasy when he was on the high deck his eyes keenly watching for the blonde hoping to see her again, he didn't know why he found himself discretely taking out the fabric at times his fingers moving over the patterns — it's softness reminding him of her smile, and her kindness.

He didn't know why he felt so protective over such a silly thing such as a cloth when one of his fellow officers Miller saw the edge peaking out, sliding it out of his pocket teasing him about it earning a shove and threat (of course one he wouldn’t act on), roughly snatching it back. He didn't know why he took the time out of his his sleeping shift to find where she was, waiting for her, pacing back and forth his fingers once and a while digging into his pocket feeling the handkerchief because for some reason it made him feel calmer.

He would tell himself, over and over that this situation was rediculous, she could laugh at him, think he was trying to pull a move on her, because why would she care about a piece of cloth? Yet, he still wouldn't leave the area outside the evening hall where Clarke resided in behind those double mahogany doors.

A part of him wanted to keep it just so he could avoid talking to her because as much as he hated to admit it, she made him uneasy. But another part wanted to keep the cloth for himself. He had grown oddly (and worriedly) attached to something as stupid as that, but he would miss the softness when he reached for his pocket. A reminder that there were still beautiful things in this world. A reminder someone as genuine as her existed in first class.

"Thank you, really." She repeated a small reassuring smile forming at the corner of her mouth, his silence still lingering.

He shouldn't of done this, he didn't want her to get the wrong idea. But — was it the wrong idea? He was attracted to her, there was no denying that, but there was also no doubting that there was a certain light about this girl. A light he wanted to know about, a light he wanted to nurture and protect so it would never dim. But his friends and Octavia always did say that's what he always did, protect. 

He cleared his throat again, adjusting his hat again on his head which felt a little sweaty. “Yeah, sure." he bit the inside of his cheek, somehow debating on what to say, to continue their conversation. "It's a — it's a nice handkerchief." He gestured to the cloth she held some what awarded, pausing trying to explain without sounding foolish, "Soft." He blurted with what first came to his mind. His eyes flashed with irritation because fuck — what the hell was wrong with him? _Soft?_ Christ. Octavia would have a field day with that one. 

Clarke giggled at his words, and his neck heat up and his heart quivered at the sound. It made him wonder — long — to hear her laugh. "Yes, it's quite soft isn't it?" She teased, her fingers playing with the cloth. He smiled timidly, rubbing the back of his neck. There was a brief silence, and Clarke finally broke into it. "I should get going, thank you again Lieutenant Blake." She picked up the skirts of her dress starting to back up from him, "I'll see you around, but hopefully not because of my clumsiness or missing handkerchiefs." She jokes, smiling.

Bellamy can't help but chuckle, with a forming grin. "I hope the next time we see each other it’s for a better reason then.” She blushes at that, “Have a good night, princess." She almost falters in her steps because of that nick name again.

She wants to ask him why she calls her that, is it just another word for "miss" that he uses on young girls like herself? Was it because she had wealth? Was it because he didn't know her name? She didn't realize she stopped walking until he raised an eyebrow at her, curiously — probably because she was blankly staring right at him in silent thought.

She hesitated, before finally letting what she wanted to say roll past her lips. "I'm Clarke." She introduced, while his face face softened, "In case you were wondering." She quickly recovered, so it didn't come out as a random statement.

His eyes searched her face, some kind of concentration and inner conflict as he slowly nodded. She didn't think much of it, about to turn away. "Bellamy." He said loud enough for her to hear. She turned to face him with surprise. "My names Bellamy." He repeated, straightening his shoulders to make him seem more confident (to cover up how flustered he was) She gazed at him in her own curiosity, her features soft and inviting. The side of his lip quirked coyly, "In case you were wondering." He mirrored back to her.

She smiled, casting her eyes down at the ground in bashfulness while his eyes admired the action. She was like an angel. "Goodnight, Bellamy." With one last gentle smile she walked down the hall to the elevators, Bellamy's eyes glued to her back.

He smiled to himself, waiting until she was out of site bringing his own eyes down to the carpeted floors grinning. "Clarke." He mumbled, chuckling to himself in delight. He heard a snicker echo. With that Bellamys smile fell, his head sharply turning to see one of the bell boys observing the scene, seeming quite amused. Bellamy glared and that shut him right up, making him quickly turn his face forward, not daring to look back in Lieutenant Blakes direction, in fear, which was a good choice.

Bellamy shook his head gazing back to where Clarke had left, her smile the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep.

Clarke laid in bed that night, playing with the handkerchief that Bellamy had returned to her. She smiled, bringing it to her nose. As creepy as it sounded — it smelt heavenly. Bellamy smelled like a mixture of mint and a sweet scent that she couldn't place. But she loved it. She sighed as she held it to her chest, her eyes glued to the ceiling buried in her thoughts. She wondered what it was like to make him laugh, to dance with him, to hold his hand affectionately, to be in his arms, to feel his kisses — to be with him.

The idea scared her. She’s seen what happened when she opened herself up to other people, and watched as they tore her heart into two. But with Bellamy? Her heart felt safe. Secure. For some reason, she welcomed the prospect of Bellamy Blake rather then feel the need to run away in fear of getting too close. (At leash so far)

Though, she knew even if he did feel something for her back, it probably wouldn't happen. An officer wouldn't have a relationship with a passenger and most certainly not a first class one at that. Clarkes mother would never forgive her for doing such a thing. She has enough scandles surrounding her. She was to be married after all.

(But did that stop either of them in the end?

_Hell no.)_

After that night, it was like they saw each other everywhere. Clarke would turn a corner — there he was in his strong stance, his chin held high with his hands behind his back.

Bellamy would be talking to a few officers or on duty and there she was walking by following a few woman that seemed a few years older then herself. She never looked interested in what they were talking about, she was too focused on the ocean her blonde hair flowing behind her shoulders gracefully at the breeze like a angelic halo.

They would both catch each others gazes, and throw friendly smiles eachothers ways. A few times Clarke even waved, and Bellamy found himself grinning nodding to her while she casts a smile back before looking to the ground.

The stolen glances was partly the beginning, but there was one night. One night that made them both see who they really were to each other.

It was late, later then usual when Clarke was sat on the bench at the back of the ship, her blonde hair disheveled, her make-up smudged down her face from the tears that stained it. She sniffled, her head in pain from all the crying she had done in the past few hours. And she was cold, shivering, from the dress that was made for indoors. The fabric was thin, and the spaghetti straps were already falling off her shoulders. But she didn't care. She could get ammonia and she still wouldn't care. She didn't want to see her mom, not after what she had found out. Her fathers death — his suicide —was to give them life insurance. To pay debts he could no longer hold off. Her mother knew about it all along. She knew he was going to hang himself, they planned it together and for what? _Money._ She lost her father, her best friend for something so dispicable. He wouldn't see her grow up, or get married and have children. He took his life all because of money. And Clarke couldn't feel anymore broken. She didn't want it, _any of it._

Everything was a lie.

"Miss?" A male voice questioned from behind her, she turned her head already feeling embarrassed as it is for her state — but she couldn't seem to care in all honesty. She should feel shameful, she should feel humiliated but she just feels numb. Her heart faltered when she connected eyes with familiar dark brown ones — even through the darkness she could see them almost twinkle. Bellamy.

His face fell as he recognized her and quickly mauled to concern and alert. " _Clarke?_   Jesus Christ—" He quickly shrugged off his jacket, rushing over to her. He moved get on one knee in front of her where she sat. Her eyes were on her lap as he hastily placed the jacket over her shoulders that were shaking. He rubbed up and down her arms, trying to warm her up faster. His protective instinct kicking in. "What the hell are you doing out here?" He commanded, almost scolding her for being so foolish. She could get sick, or worse, there's no one out here to supervise the top deck at this late hour. 

Clarke sniffled slowly lifting her eyes and his throat tightened at her shattered state. That light that radiated off her m dimming just as he feared. That light he wanted to protect was slowly failing.

His brain immediately started jumping to conclusions, making notes of her appearance, had someone hurt her? Violated her? He felt rage boil within him, his jaw clenching and his heart pounding against his rip cage. "Did someone hurt you, Clarke?" He asked quietly, his voice low a threat behind his words if her answer was yes. His eyes searched hers impatiently. He found himself afraid to know the answer. What if someone had? What if someone touched her without permission? His jaw twitched and shivers ran up his back from the scenarios of what he would do to the skum bag. And each one ended with him bruised and battered, getting throwing off the bow of the ship his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Clarke." He said her name more firmly, to get her attention his hands pausing to grip her upper arms. His eyes searched hers again, desperately for some kind of answer. A tear slowly slipped, tumbling down her cheek and neck. Bellamy refrained from having the urge to wipe it away.

"It was a lie.." She mumbled.

Bellamy furrowed his eyebrows, wanting to ask what she was talking about but she continued. "She lied to me — my — my own mother. My fathers dead. He's dead because of money. Because he thought taking his own life would give my mom the entitlement of money, to pay of debts, to keep the family wealth going." Her lips trembled, "He took his own life thinking we would stay happy if we had money." She croaked, biting her lip and shaking her head while more tears involuntarily fell. "And it's not true, I'm not happy, I'm not happy at all! I don't want money — not if it means living like this, I can't—" she started to hyperventilate, "I— I— I can't — I can't keep pretending. I don't—" she started to sob, and Bellamy felt a sting of pain. It felt like a gun shot protruding through his chest, like an open wound he couldn't make stop bleeding no matter what.

"Hey—hey," he said gently, moving to sit beside her, his hand hesitantly moving to her back side, and in an instance she was leaning into his chest, her small hand clutching the fabric of his uniform as she weeped with her head rested against him. He tensed up at the action, his body frozen in place as she continued to cry and gasp from her uneven breathing. He shut his eyes, swallowing back the large lump in his throat and the thoughts racing through his mind. He should pull away, he could get into trouble if someone caught him doing this but he didn't have the heart.

Why would he take away the only sense of security and comfort she had? He would gladly get reprimanded by the captain if it meant she felt some form of reassurance that she wasn't alone, and that everything would be okay. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on top of her head. He quietly soothed her, his hand moving his circles around her back. Something he did with Octavia when she was upset.

He didn't keep track of how long they had been like that, an hour, maybe more? (Long enough for his fingers to go numb from the cold biting at his skin) But her cries slowly died down, and her breathing wasn't faltering, and her heart beat was softer against him signaling she was calmed down. He waited a while, his cheek now rested on top her head, his fingers ghosting up her arm that was covered in his jacket. He couldn't help but want to stay like that, he wanted to just hold her like this all night — as long as she needed until the pain was gone. Until she was smiling again, until she was shining like before.

Bellamy suddenly wished he could just place her in his pocket and keep her there like he did the handkerchief not letting anyone near her, not letting anyone threaten to somehow damage something as beautiful as her. He wanted to shelter her, to keep her safe in his arms.

Clarke finally started to pull away to Bellamy's hidden disappointment. She wiped at her eyes, his hand instinctively rested on her back. His eyes were glossed over in concern as he watched her closely. "Are you alright?" He asked carefully, though he felt like it was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't fucking alright, she's falling apart.

She sniffled, a tiring smile reaching her lips as she looked up to the sky. "Honestly? No." She forced a chuckle under her breath. Bellamy frowned, and she sighed turning her head to look him in the eye. Her lips tried to tilt up, "but I will be. Some day." She moved her eyes to her hands on her lap, "I hope." She murmured.

There was a brief silence, his eyes trained on the blonde, his eyes full of sympathy, strain that she had to go through this. He felt helpless. "Me too." He said sincerely, his thumb moving over her back side.

Clarke lifted her head to look at him, they stared at one other for a few minutes in silence. They didn't need to utter a word to understand each other, they spoke through their eyes. Clarke's hand rested on top of his icy fingers that were placed on his knee. He almost flinched at her touch. He knew just what it did to him, it tempted him, made him want more than he deserved. More than what he should want.

He watched as her fingers stretched over his large hand. "Thank you." She murmured, her eyes still glossy truly thankful for what he did for her. In her moments of weakness, he was her strength. A man that barley knew her, took the time to hold her, to be the comfort that she never had from her mother. Even after her fathers death.

He smiled softly, moving his hand from her back to rest on top of hers closing it around like a blanket. Even though his fingers were as cold as the oceans water, they still felt warm. And they still sparked fire all around her skin. "You're welcome."

They stayed like that a while, their hands tangled with one another. They stared at the stars shining above, and even through the silence they found content. For the first time in a long time, they both didn't feel that loneliness make their way into the hole in their chests. Each of them filled it, like they weren't meant to.

Things shifted with them after that. Instead of the friendly smiles, and little waves — it was both of them going up to one another starting up a conversation. They would talk about anything, Clarke would make fun of the snooty girls she had to walk with to the dining room for tea, and Bellamy would complain about the passengers (mostly first class) asking him absurd questions that did nothing but degrade lower classes. They would laugh, playfully tease one another, and even throw some flirtatious remarks. (Even though they never thought they'd act on it, Bellamy convinced himself it was harmless fun, she needed it after all, and honestly so did he.)

They were almost — friends. Discrete friends. Whenever she wanted to get away from her mother or any of the sninny women that drove her up the wall, she looked for Bellamy. He never declined her when she would come up to him, and she didn't even have to say anything — he just knew. Bellamy has her laughing in no time, and nothing was more beautiful then the sound.

Or so he thought.

He never would have expected one of the most beautiful thing he got to experience from Clarke's mouth was her soft moans, and breathless utters of his name.

He never would have thought she would be underneath him, their lips attached to one another as he rocked into her gently, gasping into each others mouths.

To think it all started with a kiss. A shy kiss that Clarke surprisingly initiated.

It was late at night when they were both walking around the ship, her arm hooked on his elbow as they spoke to each other about everything.

He talked about his sister, Octavia, what she was like. How much he missed her, and his hopes of bringing her along at sea one day soon. He even brought up his mother, who's been gone for years now, a loss that they both can relate to, which is a loss of a parent. His father was another story, never met the guy, never cared for him much either if he's being honest.

Clarke talked about her past heartbreaks, her future her mother had planned since she was little. Once she got off this ship, she was going to be betrothed — and she didn't want that. (and neither did Bellamy, not that he would say.) She wanted to be a painter, an artist. Marrying and loving who she pleased, wealth or not. When she was ready. 

"That doesn't surprise me." He notes, "You have the hands of painter; small, delicate." He places his hand on hers, smiling down at them and she felt her cheeks catch fire. "You pay attention to every detail, I see you always looking out there to the horizon, it's like your memorizing it." He adds, grinning while flickering his eyes to the ocean that was beside them as they continued to walk along.

Clarke arches a playful eyebrow at him, "Are you watching me, lieutenant Blake?" She muses, and he chuckles.

"It's hard not to." His words pour out before he can comprehend them, his smile falters at his confession clearing his throat while uncomfortably casting his eyes to the ground.

She watched him, in surprise. The blue hues in her eyes clouding in awe, and flattery. She stopped them, ceasing their walk. He was about to let go of her hand before she gripped it gently, their fingers almost entangled. Bellamy stared down at their hands, in wonder — and temptation. It was so close to an actual hand hold all he had to do was slide his fingers between hers. He finally ripped his eyes away to stare down at Clarke, wondering what it was on her mind. She was nibbling her lip, flickering her eyes from his iris's to his — lips? He blinked a few times, thinking he was seeing this incorrectly. She took in a small breath, stepping closer to him making him tense up from how close they were now.

She did it again, she stared at his lips, this time longer. That's when he was sure of what was going to follow. "I'm gonna try something.." She mutters, "something I haven't done in a long time, and I hope it's okay with you." She licks her lips, nervousness flexing around the edges of her light eyes.

Bellamy didn't say anything, not that he could. Was she going to do what he thinks?

She breathed out slowly, like she was exhaling all hesitation and second thoughts. Clarke closed her eyes leaning up, closer to his face, and he knew she had to stand on the tips of her toes from the height difference. He let out a quiet trembled breath as she paused when their lips brushed causing a pit of butterfly's erupt all around her stomach. His body was tense, his fingers shaken in anticipation as he waited for her next move.

Clarke fluttered her eyes open, for just a moment, a moment to see if it was okay for her to continue. When his eyes showed impatient strain, she removed her hand from his, placing both on the sides of his face and neck, pulling him further down finally connecting their lips. Both of their breaths hitched, freezing against the softness of one another. Bellamy was stiff, his eyes still open, seeing if this was real. Was he really kissing her? Was she really kissing him?

Clarke slowly starting to move her lips against his as if it came naturally. She didn't know if she was overstepping, what if he really didn’t have feelings for her? Was that why he wasn't reacting? A whirl of dread and embarrassment pooled in her stomach, and right when she was about to pull away she felt him slowly uncoil like a snake.

Bellamys eyes closed, his body relaxing into hers moving their lips in slow sync. His large hands found her small waste, pulling her even closer. Wanting to feel every bit of her, wanting to feel that this was real. She was right here, this wasn't in his head.

Clarke smiled against his lips, lifting to stand further on her tippy toes her chest squeezing to his. She sighed against his lips, as their kiss grew more and more full of heated need.

Clarke was on fire, she could feel her body shaking in anticipation against his as his hand pressed to her back, massaging it gently. Their heads tilted from each breathtaking kiss. They barley pulled enough away to catch their breath, before deeply meshing them together again. Bellamys hat made it somewhat difficult for a better angle of her lips, frustration growing within him about it before finally swiping it off his head hastily, his arms wrapping around her completely their kiss growing more and more powerful. She moved her hands through his hair, finally able to feel it and see it for herself, and it was better then she imagined. Clarke felt the herself starting to get dizzy from the lack of air through out her lungs, reluctantly pulling away.

She breathed heavily, Bellamys nose pressed against her forehead, his arms still around her waist. She had her eyes shut, Bellamys breath fanning against her face. His eyes were trained on her, watching her gather herself. "I'm sorry," she breathed, opening her eyes to look up at him. "I just — I really wanted to know what that felt like." She muttered quietly.

Bellamy's mouth quirked up softly, now resting his forehead against hers. "So did I." He replied while a smile climbed to her face.

They didn't know what they were after that moment, they weren't strangers, they weren't friends, but something more. Something more beautiful than anyone could have ever imagined.

"These are amazing, Clarke." Bellamy admires, the paintings all around the room that she had made over the years and weeks she's been on the ship.

Clarke blushed, while taking off her last earring, after coming back from a fancy dinner she attended earlier that night. Clarke was able to leave early due to the auction they were hosting, that Clarke didn't want to take part in. And her mother would be gone for a few hours so she could have the room to herself without her nagging her.

Clarke taking the opportunity, went to Bellamys post knowing he was off for dinner but would be back shortly, leaving behind her handkerchief he had returned to her those days ago. She hoped he would recognize it, and open the folded cloth seeing her room number and meet her, since his shift would be coming to an end soon. 

Clarke couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she opened her door seeing Bellamy gripping the handkerchief with a grin. _"I believe this belongs to you."_ He teased, reciting the first time he had returned it to her making her laugh. To think this all started because of a handkerchief.

She wasn't exactly sure what her and Bellamy were, more than friends, but less than lovers? They kissed once, but she wanted to kiss him again, and so did he. Not that they really acknowledged those feelings, or knew how honestly. They were comfortable with each other, with what they were, and what they could be.

"Thank you," she answers, grinning at him through her mirror. "Some of them are still works in progress." she informs to the ones with sheets over them.

"They're fantastic, no wonder you want to be an artist. I'd buy every single one of these." She blushed at his compliment. 

Her eyes caught him removing one of the sheets and her eyes widened whipping around. "Wait that's not done!—" before she could finish the sheet fell, revealing the portrait. Clarkes gaze casts to the floor, her face flushing a deep red as she slowly turned towards her mirror — her back to him not wanting to see his reaction.

Bellamys eyes moved all around the painting in shock, scanning over the details. It was _him_. It was him standing on high deck with the sun behind him outlining his dark features looking out ahead to the horizon. She painted a portrait of him.

He slowly turned towards her, seeing her playing with her medal brush on the dresser avoiding his gaze. "You painted _me_?" He asked slowly, in astonishment.

Clarke shrugged smally, in response. She didn't want to look in the mirror to see his reaction, what if he hated it? Or thought it was odd? What if he got freaked out and dropped whatever they were?

"Why?" He asked, his eyes scanning over the painting again still not able to believe it.

“You were so breathtaking, and mesmerizing — it — it was hard not to.. " she muttered, and his heart skipped a few beats.

He turned his head towards her, his eyes full of awe. He was reflecting back to their first kiss, when he confessed it was hard not to stare at her, and yet — she was doing the same. It was then he realized it wasn't only the horizon she watched, but Bellamy. And that thought made him feel warmer then the blazing summer sun ever could.

He walked towards her, her back still to him as she heard his even footsteps. Clarke didn't dare to turn around, or to look at him or she would probably shy away. His hot breath fanned over the back of her neck, her eyes shutting gently while shivers ran up her spine. His hands softly rested on her upper arms, his thumbs massaging over her pale skin soothingly. Just by his touch — she could understand what he was saying.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck over her hair. Clarke closed her eyes, a trembling breath exhaling from her lips. She turned her head to him, rotating in his arms. They stared at each other for what felt like eternity, his eyes moving all along her face — taking in every detail he had as if he himself was painting an image of her in his mind, and in an instance his hand cupped her cheek attaching their lips in a deep captivating kiss.

Clarke sighed contently against his lips, her arms slowly moving around his neck to stand on her toes. Bellamy's arm hooked around her waist lifting her further earning her to wrap her legs around him. She did so, her hand moving through his dark hair that she was happy no hat was covering.

He groaned softly against her lips, walking them towards her bed, resting her carefully down, his forearms on either side of her while their lips massaged each others leisurely. His tongue slipped past her lips and she moaned softly at the contact.

The sound made Bellamys pants start to tighten, his heart pounding against his rip cage because fuck — that was hot, and fuck he wanted more. He pulled away, groaning to himself in protest because it was the last thing he wanted to do. But if he didn't, they could be going somewhere she would regret. "We should—“

"I want you." She breathed and his body froze, wondering if it was just her imagination of those words leaving her mouth. She placed her hands on both sides of his face, leaning him closer so their foreheads were against each other. "I want it to be you. Not some man my mother picks out for me, not some man I barley know, not some man that I don't love." The last few words came out like a vulnerable plea. Love? She — she loves him? Can you love someone that fast, is it possible? (He hoped it was)

She stared at him biting her lip, her eyes beggingly searching his for a sign he could feel the same way. She didn't expect him to say anything, or confess that he loves her back, she’s used to being the only one to give love but not have it returned, but a sign for something — a sign that he felt anything for her.

"Are you sure?" He finally mutters after a minute if silence, he was asking permission, not just to make love, but that she was sure about her feelings for him.

She smiled gracefully, her fingers tracing his cheek, all the freckles dotted like constellations. "My entire life, decisions have been made for me, but this one — this one is mine and mine only. So yes, I'm sure." She nudged her nose against his, her blue eyes focused on his hesitant dark ones. "Please." She whispered.

Bellamy moved a stray hair that threatened to fall in her face, caressing her skin in the process. God, she was beautiful. He didn't deserve her. He didn't want to hurt her, but then again, he didn't want anyone else do what he's about to do. He didn't want to think about anyone else touching her that way, if he did he would never let her leave his ship.

"Let me know if you want to stop." He whispered back, connecting their lips.

And that's how Clarke ended up beneath Bellamy. Their lips attached hotly, their fingers interlaced, their sweaty naked body's grinding into each other their moans filling the room. It was blissful, passionate, but incredibly gentle. Clarke was burning, fire igniting all around her like a Forrest in flames. She used to be scared. Scared of so many things, intimacy being one of them, but here with Bellamy, she wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. Not anymore.

It all seemed so clear to her, who she was, who she wanted to be, who she wanted to be with. With Bellamy, everything made sense.

She loved him, and maybe he didn't love her back yet, but he was enough for her.

Clarke was laying on Bellamy's chest, her head pressed to where his heartbeat thumped in a steady rhythm, listening to it like a lullaby. His toned arms were wrapped around her, his nose nestled in her hair breathing her in and leaving kisses on her head here and there causing Clarke to smile to herself. She didn't want to sleep, she wanted to stay here in his arms. She wanted to remember this, but the wave of exhaustion overcame her needs. And before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

Bellamy watched her sleep, and he could swear he held an angel. He wished he could lay here all night, watching her eyelashes flutter and her lips part. He found himself tracing her lips with his fingers, moving strands behind her ears, peppering sweet kisses on her head holding her closer as if she was his life line. Because maybe she was.

His eyes were closed when he felt a shaking sensation. He opened his eyes, seeing the chandelier of diamonds moving back and forth above them and noticing the glass of water on the side table vibrate with a tremor. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering what that was about.

He shook it off, telling himself it was just the engines fastening up, but why would they quicken? They weren't behind or in a rush to get to the destination. Bellamy found himself debating on checking it out, it was bothering the hell out of him, and he can't help but feel something was wrong. It was one of those warning instincts, like something bad was going to happen. His gut was usually right on these things.

Bellamy slid out from underneath Clarke, careful not to wake her. He adjusted her comfortably on the bed, making sure she was warm before getting dressed.

Once he had finished buttoning up his jacket he made his way over to the sleeping blonde, moving some hair from her face. He stare adoringly at her, smiling to himself at her peaceful state. He leaned in, ever so gently kissing her lips. She stirred a little at the contact but thankfully hadn't awoken.

"I'll see you soon." He whispered, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. He took a hold of his hat on the dresser, placing it on his head firmly to cover the disheveled mess. His eyes caught the handkerchief set on the table, he smiled to himself picking it up glancing back to Clarke.

To think this all started because of a handkerchief.

He chuckled softly, placing back down gently.

He took a hold of the doorknob opening it, and before he shut it he gave one last look at her, having the urge to crawl back into bed with her but he stopped the thought by closing the door so he wouldn't change his mind.

Bellamys gut feeling was correct, something bad was going to happen —but he never would have thought it would be the Titanic sinking to the bottom of the ocean due to an iceburg. No one would have thought it would be that, it was called "unsinkable" for a reason, but that wasn't the least of their problems.

The other problem was there wasn't enough life boats for everyone. The water was ice cold, and help wouldn’t get here in time before the ship goes under. People were going to die. But Bellamy knew Clarke couldn't be one of them, he was going to make sure of it.

Once the officers were all informed, they sent them off to supervise and keep order. First class — woman and children, then the lower classes — woman and children, only.

"Oi! Blake! Where the hell are you going?" One of his fellow lieutenants called after him as he ran towards the stairwell.

"I'll be back shortly, monitor the top deck!" He answered hurriedly, rushing down the steps ignoring his other calls as the door slammed after him. He could get fired for this but he didn't care, Clarke was getting on a damn life boat and she was getting off this damn ship. He was running down halls, practically barreling into a servant holding piles of life jackets when he heard her. 

"Bellamy!" Clarke called as he turned a corner, she was in her mint green dress she was wearing earlier that evening, before dinner, her hair down in waves while some strands were clipped back from her face.

She must have been talking to fellow officers or workers that knew of the news by the look of terror and fear in her eyes. He ran to her, while she met him half way. She was expecting an explanation but instead he took a hold of her hand firmly, "We have to get you to the lifeboats." He ushered, pulling her along in a light jog.

"Lifeboats? So it's true? The ships sinking?" She panicked and he glimpsed at her in silent agreement. "Oh my god," she breathed, as they stopped at the elevator a bellboy opening the doors for them.

Bellamy nodded to him as the man smiled friendly at them once closing them, "Up we go, then." He mused in a too peppy tone, too peppy to know the ship is going to go at the bottom of the atlantic in the next few hours. Clarke helf Bellamys hand, standing close to him as he was about to maneuver the lever upwards.

The lights flickered above them, catching their attention. Clarke leaned towards Bellamy, watching the lights blink, his grip tightening on her hand. He eyed the bellboy who looked a bit nervous himself observing the flashing bulbs. The lights slowly went back to the way it was, and the tensions eased. He laughed nervously. "Must be a haunted ship." He joked, looking relieved with a framed smile.

Bellamy didn't look convinced, a bad feeling pooling in his gut once again, glancing down at Clarke who still looked worried.

"Going up." He informed cheerily, pulling the lever. There was an ugly churning noise and a loud pop as the lights suddenly went out. Clarke screamed as the elevator fell freely with nothing to hold it up, reaching out in the darkness for Bellamy.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (WHOLE STORY EDITED/REVISED 10/24/17)

Bellamy held Clarke protectively to his chest, her burying her face into him with her eyes squeezing shut as the elevator descended wildly.

He stumbled as it came to a rough clash, his hat flying off in the process, gripping the railing so he and Clarke wouldn’t fall over. He would have been confused on why the elevator hadn’t exploded, and why they weren’t all badly injured or possibly dead if ice cold water hadn’t seeped between the cracks of the gate. The water rising had saved their fall, only to possibly have it kill them instead.

On impulse Bellamy quickly took Clarke into his arms, lifting her off the ground bridal style before the water reached any higher. He watched as it rushed hitting his legs — and it was like a million needles stabbing him. He winced at the feeling as Clarke looked down to the water in terror.

The bellboy had a bloody broken nose, the water rising up at the caff of his legs, trying to work the lever in panic, saying prayers in hopes the elevator will work somehow, but he was wasting his time.

“Open the gates!” Bellamy demanded to him maneuvering towards the doors, as Clarke held her arms around his neck.

He glanced at him like he was mad. “Are you mad?! We can’t go out there!”

"There is no _we_! You wanna stay here and drown go right on ahead, but in the mean time you can open the fucking gates!" He bellowed, kicking the metal. " _Now_!" He yelled, as the bell boy cursed almost quivering at his angry demands. He opened the gates only to have them shoved the rest of the way by Bellamy’s shoulder. The water felt colder in the hallway, making him hiss under his breath. The hall lights flickered above, the walls roaring from the filling titanium of the ship.

He readjusted Clarke in his arms, turning back to the man almost silently warning him that this was his last chance to come with them. Imploring with his eyes that he’s better off with them.

The bell boy looked at him in fear, and hesitation. His eyes flickered in denial, quickly shutting the gates, going back to trying to work the elevator.

Bellamy sighed in defeat, "Suit yourself.” He muttered, reminding himself he can’t save everyone. He hastily made his way down the hall, kicking luggage and other debri in the process to find a stairwell.

“We can’t just leave him there,” Clarke protested looking over his shoulder where the elevator became farther and farther.

"He made his choice, Clarke." He replied his eyes scanning over the walls in determination to find a stairwell. He cursed himself for taking the elevator in the first place, he should of just stuck with the stair case. This was his fault. He should of known better.

"He was just scared, like all of us—" she tried to reason before he cut her off abruptly.

"I’m not fucking scared!" He snapped, and she went silent. His eyes were hard refusing to look at her to see her frowning. He felt a little guilty for his tone but he was frustrated, frustrated and angry, more with himself. "I’m not scared for me," he continued, "I’m scared for you, for all the lives that are going to be lost tonight all because of a fucking floating piece of ice and not enough lifeboats."

Clarke continued to stay silent, “I’m scared too..” She muttered, “I’m scared for everyone, for you, my mom, all the rest of the passengers..” His grip tightened on her, his numb legs still moving in a stride stopping when he came to a corner, looking left and right to which direction to go. “I’m just scared Bellamy.” She confessed tearfully.

He sighed, looking down at her. He brought her up further to rest his forehead on hers. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” He promised, solemnly. “We’re gonna get through this.”

She closed her eyes at his assurance, a tear threatening to fall. He pecked her cheek where the salty tear slowly glided, stopping its tracks.

"Help us! Somebody please help us!" A voice called, both Clarke and Bellamy looking up. "Please somebody!" The voice begged.

Bellamy stared at the hallway ahead of them where the voice echoed, knowing the staircase wasn’t anywhere near there. He ripped his eyes away, starting to walk hastily in a different direction. “What are you doing?” Clarke demanded, “We need to help them! They need help!” She started squirming in his arms but Bellamy just held her tighter because _no_ , he wasn’t risking anymore time. He needed to get her to a lifeboat before they were all gone.

"We can’t do anything for them. We need to find the stairwell and get the hell out of here." He argued, Clarke scoffed hitting his chest and finally stops struggling.

"Screw the damn stair case! What’s the point of trying to survive if you aren’t wiling to help others survive with you?"

Bellamy went silent. He was helping people survive — _Clarke_. She was his first priority. Like Octavia would be, like his mother would be, like anyone he loved — he stopped his thoughts at the word. He never said it to himself about Clarke before. He never believed in it, only love he knew was real was a family’s love. Did he love Clarke? The way his sister wanted to be loved by a man?

"Bellamy, please." Clarkes eyes were wide, pleading. His gaze moved around her face, and that’s when he knew she wouldn’t give this up. And she most certainly wouldn’t forgive him if they left those people behind. Stubborn. Just like him.

"Five minutes. No more than that or I’m throwing you over my shoulder, got it?" He said sternly and she nodded quickly, a thankful smile on her face. She pecked his cheek, and he sighed. He adjusted Clarke in his arms again, starting to quicken his stride through the water, careful not to slip.

When they followed the voices, they found them at a gate, water rising behind them. They were locked in, a little girl was in an older woman’s arms, her —from what they assume — husband was reaching through the holes. They’re faces lit up at the sight of them, “Hey! Hey! Please help us! Please! Don’t leave!” He begged in desperation, Clarkes heart ached at the sound.

"Where are the keys?" He commands, looking around for some sign of them, he hoped perhaps they were dropped by an officer. 

"We don’t know! We came down here and it was like this! The rest of exits are all flooded off from the water, this is the last one!" The man cried.

Bellamy looked at them and the gate in thought, there wasn’t any way that was opening with their own strength. They were designed that way. But maybe — maybe he could get to the other side and find something that could.

He turned around looking for something to place Clarke on, finding a bench stuck to the wall. (Because he still couldn’t manage to let her feel the daggering cold water or get wet, when they got out of there, if she was soaked she would possibly freeze to death on the lifeboat.) he eased her stand onto the wood, holding her waist making sure she was steady. He buttoned down, and shrugged off his uniform jacket, placing it around her shoulders helping her put her arms through so that she was warm, leaving him in a white dress shirt with a tie around the collar. 

"Hold onto this," he advised to the lamp that curved out like a handle on the wall.

She did as he said, watching him carefully with a concerned expression while he threw his tie off from his neck and into the crystal water carelessly, starting to button down his dress shirt. "What are you gonna do?"

He looked around near the wall to where the people resided, finding exactly what he was looking for. “Save them and try not to drown in the process.” He confessed with amusement turning back to her, while sliding off the shirt revealing a white sleeveless t-shirt underneath, even more vulnerable to the cold. He tossed it onto the top of the bench, and hoped it wouldn’t get too wet to wear again. (If he survives this that is)

She nodded quickly at his response, “Good plan.”

He smiled a little, and they kept their gazes for a minute before she leaned down and kissed his lips deeply cupping his face. He held into her hips to be sure she wouldn’t fall as she leaned into him. She pulled away breathing heavily, “Come back to me, okay? Don’t you dare leave me like this or I will never forgive you.”

He smiled softly, “Can’t have that, now can we princess?” He teased, and she shook her head, pecking his lips.

“Don’t get yourself killed.” She begged.

"I won’t." He promised, "Just stay here," he squeezed her hips finally moving away from her. The water was up to his knees now, his height making it easier for him to move faster through the water. He looked around the wall, finding the vent, he went up to the gates placing his hands on them to get their attention. "Okay — listen, is there a vent over on that wall? That wall right there?" He pointed to the wall on the mothers side, the man moved through the water looking all around until he spotted it. "Yes! Yes it’s here — do you want us to go through it? We won’t fit or be able to hold our breaths!—“

Bellamy rolled his eyes in annoyance, yeah I think he got that. “You won’t, I can. Look, on your side somewhere down the halls there should be an fire emergency axe, do you remember seeing it?”

The man slowly nodded in recall, “yeah, I —I think so. Yes!”

He nodded, relieved there was still hope for them. “Good, if we can find it then we can bust this door down.”

"But the halls — They’re filled with water! We’ll drown!"

He chuckled bitterly, “Luckily for you I’m a good swimmer.” He retorted.

"I’m not!" He panicked.

Bellamy shook his head. "Then practice, and while you’re at it, take the vent door off so I don’t drown when I get over there."

Bellamy moved to the vent, kneeling down feeling the water cave over his entire body, especially his bare arms. (The only good thing about this, is the less clothing he has on the easier it’ll be to swim without the extra added weight.)

He hissed, ignoring the sharp stinging sensation. He grunted, pressing his lips together as he pried off the vent door, the pressure of the water pouring out. He did the math in his head, and came to the conclusion he had less then 2 minutes to get to the other side or he would drown. “Hey! Is the door off?” He called to the man on the other side as the woman nodded to him, the little girl clutching to her for dear life. The mother he believed didn’t speak English, and the father even had a bit of a Spanish accent to his voice that he didn’t note until now.

"Yes! It’s off now — what do I do?"

"Wait until I get over there, and hope I don’t drown." He replied, a bitterness to his tone. He stared at the vent, gripping both sides of the wall to brace himself.

"You better come back, Bellamy Blake." Clarke declared.

He smiled to himself, sending a glance over his shoulder in reassurance. "Wouldn’t plan any other way, princess." And without another word he took a deep breath burying himself under water, squeezing through the vent.

_So much for five minutes._

Clarke watched with wide eyes as as his body disappeared into the wall where the vent was submerged underwater. She chewed her lip, waiting in agonizing silence for him to come out from the other side to breath. To hear his deep voice, commanding that man what to do, assuring her he was fine. She held the his jacket closer to herself, his scent engulfing her — a comfort that he would be okay.

It had to be a minute now — maybe two, oh god that’s too long. She can’t keep track, she kept counting over and over but beginning again because she was afraid to reach another minute. If he died it would be her fault, she wanted to save these people — but at what cost? The man she loves? She herself should have done this. She should be in those vents fighting the freezing cold waters currents, not that he would ever let her. _Over his dead body,_ he would have said.

Her legs threatened to buckle as the little girl whimpered, the mom talking quietly to her daughter in a language she couldn’t understand. But still none of the less she felt somehow soothed. Her lips trembled praying that he would just come up already.

_Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead._

Tears threatened to surface and right when she was about to accept his fate, she heard a deep breath the water rippling and splashing. Bellamy. He was coughing his dark hair matted to his face, trying to gain the lost breath in his lungs back. The man patted his back telling him to breath and that he was okay. She shut her eyes in relief, placing her hand over her face. “Thank god.” She breathed.

"Bellamy!" Clarke calls in concern, hearing him coughing.

"I'm alright," He rasped, "Got a bit held up in there." he teased in between more coughs, trying to get the air back in his lungs. 

She fought back a relieved smile. "Just be sure to get back here alive, because if you die I’ll never forgive you.” She declares, not wanting to ever feel that helpless again.

Bellamy managed to crack a smile at that, moving wet hair from his eyes as he stood with the mans help after he gained most of his breath back. “Come on, we’re running out of time.” He peered behind him to where the stairs were flooding. “This way,” he made his way through the water the man following behind him down each step.

His had was pounding from the ice cold water he was once submerged under, his body was numb, his muscles felt weaker then before with all the strength he’s used up. But he has no choice but to ignore it, he had people to save, and Clarke to get back too.

"Hold the pipes as you go along," he advised, grabbing a hold of the white pipe along the ceiling and holding his head above water as he moved into the flooded hall. He glanced back at the man to make sure he was doing it correctly, guiding himself with the pipes. "Which way do you remember seeing it?" He asked his eyes looking down in the blue daggering water, searching for a familiar red box with the axe residing inside. His teeth were chattering, his lips blue as water that splashed into his mouth. His muscled arms flexed as he continued to move forward.

"It’s — it’s not far, maybe after this corner." He stuttered, through his own chattering teeth and struggle to keep his head above water. Bellamy had more of an advantage, he was younger, he had training, but this man was older and had more weight on him. Bellamy felt a stab of guilt for making him come, but he had no choice. He didn’t know where it could be, and he wouldn’t make that woman with her child come. They didn’t have time to waste, this was the only option.

The lights continued to flicker, sparks falling into the water from the small blown fuses and broken circuits. “Watch the wires,” Bellamy warned, “if any of those come crashing into the water we’re barbecued.”

He didn’t hear a response, and now that he thought about it he didn’t feel him behind him either. He turned his head, only to see him sinking underwater. Bellamy cursed rushing to him, grabbing him by the back of his jacket to pull him to the surface while one of his arms held the pipe. The man coughed, water spilling from his mouth his eyes sagging in exhaustion. “You alright?” He asked still holding him up while he finally gripped the pipe for himself. He nodded, his eyes shutting a moment breathing heavily. “What’s your name?” Bellamy questioned.

The man leaned his head against his forearm, “Felix. ” he breathed, “Felix Montgomery.”

He smiled a little, “Well, Felix, you cant go tapping out on us alright? I know you're afraid, but what you do with that fear is up to you. You can let it break you down, or let it make you stronger. We all need you, your daughter and wife need you. You have to stay with us, and get back to them. You gotta watch that daughter grow up, find a man of her own, maybe even beat up a few before she finds the right one, and become a grandfather one day. You have to love your wife and tell her how much you love her each and everyday after this. You have to fight, and survive for them even when you want to give up. They're your family, your responsibility.” He reminded, “So hold yourself together, and help me find this ax so we can live to see another day. I didn’t come all the way down here to watch you drown.”

Felix thankfully stared at him, realizing that’s what he needed to hear. He had to fight and survive for them, this guy didn’t crawl through a vent almost dying for him to just give up. “Come on.” Bellamy turned around to move down the pipes again, this time with Felix closer behind.

+

Clarke watched as the bulbs flickered above the ceiling, swallowing nervously. She heard the little girl whimper again, and Clarke turned her attention to the mother and child. The water was now up to the mothers waist and she could see the little girls feet starting to get wet, reminding of her own. The bench was slowly being covered, and soon she would be ankle deep, but she would never complain. Not with what that poor family is going through. “What’s her name?” Clarke asked the mother with a gentle smile, hoping she could understand her.

“Marcella.” The mother replied, softly. Gazing lovingly down at her daughter, stroking the back of her head.

“That's a beautiful name.” She complimented, and the mother just nodded in with a silent thank you.

Clarke watched closely, the mother humming lightly in her ear. A very soothing tune, words she couldn’t understand but she wished she could. She noticed the little girl shivering, and she looked down to the jacket rested on her shoulders. Her blanket of security until Bellamy got back, but if anyone needed comfort — it was this family. She carefully climbed down, bracing herself for the cold water. She gasped at the sudden stinging in her legs the water high at her upper thighs.

The mother watched in confusion, and the daughter peaked from her shoulder shyly, wondering what it was she was doing. Clarke was wincing as she stiffly moved her legs, god knows how Bellamy handled being under water in this. It makes her realize just how strong he really is.

Clarke stopped when she was infront her of the gate, sliding off Bellamys uniform jacket, careful not to let it touch the water. She held it through the gates cracks, with a smile. She motioned with her eyes, “Take it, you guys need it more then I do.”

The mother looked reluctant, but never the less she collected it in her hand. There was sincere gratitude through her light brown eyes, laying it around her daughter. “Thank you.”

Clarke nodded, with a soft look moving her eyes to the little girl who was staring at her. Clarke smiled reassuringly, “it’s gonna be okay.” She promised, her hand holding the gates bar tightly. Determined she would get out, she would be okay. She was sure of it. She had faith in Bellamy.

The little girl quirked up a smile through her tears and Clarke felt her heart flutter.

There were collective yells, and splashing, booming down the halls grabbing their attention. Men in similar uniforms like Bellamy, lower officers, and men in white outfits that were workers of the ship with rushing past, some passengers along with them. She felt relieved — they had to have keys — some way to get them out.

"Wait! _Wait_!" She called, traveling through the water as fast as she could almost stumbling on some floating luggage.

A man heard her cries, and had stopped to her relief, an officer, Dax, she recalls Bellamy pointing out. "Miss? What are you doing all the way down here? The ship is _sinking._ You need a life belt on and need to get to a life boat immediately." The officer advised, giving her a life vest that he held but she ignored it.

"Yes, yes I know but there’s people trapped behind that gate!" She pointed to the woman and her child, "There’s still others, they went to find something to open it — do you have any keys? Anything that can help us—" She begged, but the officer seemed defiant, not bothering to listen to what she was saying. (He had orders, check the halls, and escort the rest of first class to the top deck with any means necessary.)

"Miss you need to leave, it’s not safe." he repeated, urgently.

She shrugged off his arm that tried to pull her along, “No you don’t understand! I’m not leaving without them!— What are you doing— No—get your hands off me!” She cried as he started to pick her up, forcing her along with him. She struggled in the officers arms. “ _Let go of me!_ ” She screamed over his protests and explanations, “No! _No_! Please!” She cried, angry desperate tears falling down her face as she splashed around. “Bellamy! _Bellamy_!” She cried, reaching towards the direction of the woman and child who helplessly watched her get dragged away.

Clarke kicked around in his arms as the water level was getting lower, the farther they go making it easier to get out of his arms. “Fucking let me go you asshole!” She raged, ladylike manners be damned, but he still made no move to listen, “I said _let go!_ ” She finally kicked the wall across from her, his back slamming into the opposite one in a grunt. When he still didn’t loosen his grip, she brought his hand to her mouth biting down roughly.

The officer yelled out shoving her off him with all his might and before she could stop her fall, her head slammed against the wall with a hard smack and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her neck was craned at the wall from the position she fell in, blood trickling down the side of her face. Her chin to her chest while her lashes fluttered.

The officer had wide eyes staring at what he had done, “Oh god..” He uttered out.

The man looked from side to side, realizing no one witnessed the scene. He then stumbled over an abandoned suitcase before rushing down the hall, regretfully.

As Clarke laid their motionlessly, falling into unconsciousness the water level climbed.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (WHOLE STORY EDITED/REVISED 10/24/17)
> 
> If you want to get really into this listen to Titanics "Hymm to the sea" while reading this chapter and cry like a baby like I did :))))) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VtolJ7N-xc8

Bellamy breathed as he resurfaced from the stair well back to where Felix's family and Clarke resided. Him and Felix cut it close since they had barley made it back before the halls were completely filled after retrieving the ax. Bellamy climbed up the stairs, an ax in one hand, while the other gripped the back of Felix jacket hauling him up with him. They both coughed, catching their breath.

Bellamy side smiled at him, patting him on the back, “You made it.” He encouraged while Felix sent him a tired smile.

Bellamy peered up to the woman, immediately noticing the distraught fearful look in her eyes. Why wasn’t she happy? Relieved? His smile faltered at the only reason there could be.

“Clarke?” He called skeptically, realizing she was oddly quiet. His heart beat quickened in dread not hearing her response. He rushed up the rest of the stairs, almost tripping over himself with the axe still in hand. He gripped the gate, his wide eyes frantically moving over the room for a sign of her. “Clarke!” He called again, desperation in his tone. “ _Clarke_!”

His hands were shaking, his heart slamming against his rip cage with all the scenarios flashing through his mind. He turned to the woman, “Where is she?” He begged feeling vulnerable, his eyes flooded in worry and fear. The woman just stared at him, and Bellamys eyes flashed in frustration thinking she didn’t understand him. “Clarke!” He snapped, anger filling his body. “The blond girl! The one I was with! The one—” he froze, realizing they were covered in his jacket. He gripped the fabric to show her as she flinched at the action. “The one who gave you this! Where is she?” The woman speaks, but words he doesn’t understand fall out. He presses his lips together, about to explain he has no idea what the hell she’s saying until Felix speaks.

“She said they took her, a man in uniform, the one — the one dressed like you.” he uttered out.

Bellamys heart fell to his stomach, images of her being dragged away. Their hands on her, her struggling in their grasp. She was probably terrified and calling for him, but he wasn’t _there_.

His body shook with rage, and he took a firm grip of his axe. The women was quick to move out of his way as he yelled hitting the gate with a loud bang. He slammed into it, over and over again the metal shaken with every hit — denting and weakening the rougher he got.

He pounded it, relentlessly. Sweat compiling on his forehead, his anger and desperation lashing out into the gate. In one last hit and grunt there was a creak, the lock dwindled into practicly nothing. He let go of the axe it falling heavily into the water, kicking the rest of it open. He shoved it, Felix helping him fasten the process.

The woman rushed out, behind her husband tears of happiness pouring down her face as she hugged him. He kissed both his wife and daughters head, tears forming in his eyes. He looked over them to see Bellamy breathing heavily, watching them. The woman stared back at Bellamy, pointing in the direction they went. He nodded firmly, about to walk past them before Felix grabbed his arm. He spoke Spanish, though he had no idea what he said to him, before smiling softly, “Thank you, and goodluck.” He interpreted.

Bellamy didn’t say anything but he nodded, the person he should be thanking is Clarke. If it wasn’t for her, he would of left them there.

They shook hands respectfully, and parted ways. Bellamy ran through the water, his destination to find her. Because yes he wanted her to get on a lifeboat, but not like this. Not grabbed by another man and forced to go with them, and most certainly not a man that calls himself an officer. (Because he knows Clarke wouldn't leave against her will. She's far too stubborn and caring for that.) The thought they left a woman and her child by themselves didn’t make it any better.

When Bellamy turned a corner, his body froze stiffly his legs stopping in their tracks the color draining from his face at the horrific sight infront of him. There was a blonde laid up against a wall, the water up to her mouth, nearing her nose, motionless.

 _Clarke_.

His heart was beating in his ears, and finally he started to bolt down the hall towards her.

He skidded as he came to a stop beside her practicly straddling her as he wrapped an arm around her back pulling her up from the ice cold water, her head rolling back limply.

His body was shaking as he took in her apearence — she was too pale, her lips too blue with blood staining her blonde hair and the dress she was wearing. His hand flinched as he touched her skin as if he was afraid it would harm her.

Clarke looked so peaceful when she slept, this is isn’t one of those times where he could admire it. He wanted nothing but her to open her eyes. “C—Clarke?” He stuttered shakily. She was still unresponsive as he tilted her head to look at the wound. He bit his lip, from quivering. He gulped back the lump in his throat and he could barley breath. His fingers dreadfully moved to her neck pausing before pressing. He shut his eyes, pleading for their to be a pulse. 

_Please. Please. Please._

Bellamy felt a faint thump and he breathed out. He felt a spark of hope, adjusting her in his arms his hand crawling to the back of her head to tilt up. He rested his forehead to hers, guilt seeping into him because fuck he shouldn’t of left her there on her own. He should of just got her to a life boat and came back for Felix and his family. It was his job to protect her, and he failed.

Tears gathered in his closed eyes, and he found himself weeping softly, “I’m so sorry.” He trembled, “God, I’m so sorry Clarke. Please forgive me. Please wake up.” He croaked, his shoulders shaking as he held her closer.

Tears fell onto her face, his forehead nudging back and forth into hers not caring about the water rising. He couldn’t even get himself to think about that. What if she was really hurt? What if she wasn’t going to wake up? The thought shattered him, he couldn’t lose Clarke. He couldn’t lose her. He loved her. He really loved her and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. He would tell her over and over again how much he loved her, every minute of everyday if she would just open her eyes. If she would just be okay.

"Please." He begged in a broken sob. Praying to whatever god there was, even if he never believed in him before he sure as hell did now. Or atleast he wanted too, anything to get Clarke to open het beautiful eyes.

It was like a breath of life when he felt a hand press to his cheek. His eyes snapped open pulling slightly away finding her weak blue eyes trained on him. He lout to a strangled breath of relief, his eyes set in such intensity that she or him couldn’t place into words. His eyes were soft and they looked so broken so shattered — but just looking at her flutter her eyes pieces him back together. The loving look in his eye never falters, and her lips quirk up.

“Hi..” she murmers, “good to see your still alive.” She teases with a scratchy voice.

He laughs in tearful joy shaking his head, leaning their foreheads together. He starts kissing all along her face, her nose, her lips. Her eyes, her forehead. She smiles at the action, giggling weakly as his lips finally pressed to hers.

He pulls away, their lips still touching. “Don’t ever fucking put me through that again.” He commanded, but there was such pain behind his voice. Pleading.

"I won’t," she promises, stroking his cheek as he shut his eyes. She smiled a little, "we should get up now, you know, before the ship sinks."

Bellamy quirked a smile at that, "I was actually thinking we could go skinny dipping." He joked and she laughed quietly, lightly hitting his chest.

He chuckles, helping her stand up slowly and carefully, though she was shaky. He doesn’t hesitate to take her in his arms once again. She doesn’t protest. She sighs leaning her head tiredly against his shoulder, him hastily making his way down the hall. “Who did that to you?” He suddenly asked, and by the demanding angry tone to his voice he meant the officer.

It was so vague she could barley remember. Thinking back to it gave her a headache, honestly she wanted to forget it ever happened but by the fury clouding Bellamys brown eyes that wouldn’t be an option. “An officer, he was being a little too persistent, he wouldn’t listen to me. I was trying to stop him from taking me away from you guys and—” Clarke winces involuntarily at the flashback of his rough shove. “I bit him on the hand, trying to get him to let go and he pushed me. I hit my head and, that was that. I woke up with you there.” She explained.

Bellamys eyes were hooded in silent rage, and Clarke suddenly hoped that officer would never encounter him. “I should of been there.”

Clarke frowned, her hand gripping his wet t-shirt. “It’s not your fault Bellamy, you were helping that family. Even if you were there you would of had to watch me get dragged away, he wasn’t— ” she sighed tiredly, “he wasn’t very understanding of the situation.” She tried to put lightly without saying ‘he was an ass’ but Bellamy heard loud and clear.

He could give a damn who it was, he could be the president of the United States and he would still have the urge to beat the shit out of him for touching Clarke in the first place.

"I’m assuming you got the family out." She smiled up at him, her head against his shoulder looking at him adoringly because of course he did. Bellamy may try to pretend he doesn’t care, pretend he’s not some big hero but he truly was. He was a hero. And when she thought she couldn’t love him more, he proved her wrong.

"Thanks to you." He murmered, glimpsing down at her, some guilt behind his expression. "I wouldn’t have gone back for them if you didn’t convince me. I would of—" he stopped his train of thought shaking his head at himself.

"But you didn’t." She reminded, "and you might not think so, but if I were there or not, you would of done the right thing and gone back to them. Because that’s who you are."

He smiled to himself at her words, if anyone can make him feel like less shit it was Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy stopped when they came to a stair well. He nodded to Clarke towards the door knob. “Open that for me.”

Clarke reached turning the doorknob. “Damn, I was hoping we could take an elevator.” She teased and he readjusted her in his arms snorting.

 “Yeah, very funny, princess.” he jogged up the stairs with her still in his arms.

When they finally got to the frigid outside, it was chaos. People were running all over the place, flares hitting the night skies, cries from woman as they sat on their lifeboats huddled into eachother. People shoved one another as they rushed to the remaining boats.

"Jesus Christ," Bellamy breathed at the scene, white smoke exhaling from his mouth feeling his skin already shaking from the cold. He glanced around, in search for something — anything to keep both him and Clarke warm, if not him then just Clarke. He placed her to sit on a pile of extra ropes, jogging over to knocked over folded blankets. He picked one up, shaking it out rushing back over to her placing it over her shoulders. Kneeling infront of her, rubbing up and down her arms in attempt to keep her warm.

"There we go." He smiled a little, and they found themselves in a similar position from those weeks ago when he found her in tears placing his jacket over her shoulders. Man, were things so much less harder than, Clarkes biggest concern was her mothers lies — her future if she could be truly happy and now all she's worried about is her and Bellamy getting off this ship, alive to have a future at all. (She let herself wonder if her mother had gotten off safely into a life boat, she hoped she did.)

"Lieutenant Blake?" A voice called, capturing Bellamys attention. He turned his head looking at a fellow officer behind him. The officer (Miller, Clarke distantly recalled) stared at his state in shock. His hair was damp and disheveled as well as his cloths — his jacket was gone, his hat lost. He wasn’t used to seeing him in such an unprofessional way. "Get him a coat! God damn it someone get the lieutenant a coat!" He demanded, around. One sailor heard his order and darted off to fetch him one.

“A med kit too!” Bellamy calls after him, turning back to Clarke in reminder to check out her head wound. He should have done that sooner. She tried swatting him away as he examined it but he ignored her. 

“I don’t think it’s gonna need stitches.” Bellamy says, relieved it wasn’t as deep as it appeared.

Clarke rolls her eyes fondly, “I think a cut is the least of our worries.” Bellamy was still fussing, before she grabbed his hands, “I’m _fine_ , Bell. Promise.”

Bellamy sighed, with a frown, not really believing her by the tremor in her hands.

Miller seemed hesitant to ask what happened to her, and to them in general, but he decided against it. “We need you in bay 6,” he paused, “we lost lieutenant Kane.”

Bellamys eyes mauled over in sympathy at the news of their fallen comrade. Kane was a good man, they all looked up to him. He nodded, “I’ll be over there as soon as I can, keep the passengers in order until I get there — only woman and children.” He reminded sternly. Miller nodded once, saluting him before jogging towards bay 6.

"Woman and children?" Clarke questioned, a anxious glint in her eye. He didn’t say anything, avoiding her gaze nodding silently.

"Lieutenant." A sailor saluted, holding out a jacket and med kit on top. He took it from him, with a dismissive nod. Bellamy watched him start to help more sailors heave another lifeboat.

He was about to take Clarkes blanket off and place the jacket on her instead before earning a slap his chest. “Don’t you dare.” She scolded with a glare. “Wear it. Now.” She demanded.

He gave her a stern look, “Clarke—“

"Don’t you argue with me, I have this, " she adjusted the blanket on her shoulders "I’m fine. If you want to take care of me, take care of yourself first.” He opened his mouth again before she cut him off, “You’ll suffer from hypothermia before I will. I have more medical knowledge than you do, don’t forget I worked with my mother in my free time."

He couldnt protest to that statement, because she was right, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. He sighed irritated, sliding on the jacket to her pleasant content. He gestured his arms out, “Happy?”

She twitched her lips to the side, moving her hands to button up a few to cover his torso, protecting him from the vicious cold. She cupped his cheek. “Now I’m happy.” She leaned in pecking his lips, jumping away from him at the sound of another flare lighting up the skies like fire works. 

“You know, it kind of feels a little like the 4th of July.” He pauses, as the white smoke exits his mouth with every exhale from the frigid weather, “Well — in Alaska.” Bellamy jokes, to ease the tension, it works because Clarke laughs into his shoulder. 

Bellamy takes a few minutes to clean the gash on Clarke’s head, carefully. She critiques him a few times which earns a fond roll of his eyes. In the end he places a large bandage over it, with a featherlike kiss. 

"Come on, we gotta go." His arm protectively wrapped around her shoulder, helping her to stand. They walked towards bay 6, Clarke observing the heartbreaking goodbyes of family’s.

She frowned at the thought of her saying goodbye to Bellamy. She quickly shunned the thought, he wouldn’t make her leave him. Not after everything that they’ve been through. He would be on the same boat as her because he was high in authority. He had to be.

"Woman and children only!" The male officer ordered, helping people into the lifeboats. Bellamys arm fell from around her shoulder, ordering around a few officers that began readying another life boat.

Clarke watched as more flares lit up the dark sky, wondering to herself — could she make a wish on this kind of star?

"Lieutenant Blake, I’m here to inform you that we evacuated who we could to the best of our ability. What would you have me do now, sir." An officer, Dax he recognized, declared, saluting him with his hand to his head. Usually he’d report to Kane, but with his untimely death Bellamy’s sure most will report to him now.

Clarke turned to the officer only to have her face fall recognizing him as the man that had tried to grab her earlier. His eyes moved to her only for him to pale, in a wild eyed expression.

Bellamy furrowed his eyebrows at his sudden stiff demeanor, following his eyes to stare at Clarke. She gulped as she suddenly casted her eyes to the ground, pushing some hair behind her ear absentmindedly grazing over her cut in reminder.

His head slowly turned towards Dax, Clarkes voice echoing in his head as his eyes squinted at the residing red mark tinting his skin — his skin in the shap of a bite mark. Clarkes bite mark. The look on Clarke’s face was all the proof he needed that this was the man that almost got her killed. 

Bellamys fist clenched beside him, his jaw clenching so tight his teeth were about to shatter. “Best to your ability?” He sneered before roughly grabbing a hold of the collar of his uniform, with muderous eyes. “Best to your fucking ability?!” He raged, his fist swinging back to hook across his jaw.

People jumped back, giving them some space, Bellamy climbing ontop of him his fist repeatedly hitting his face over and over while he gripped his collar.

Clarke had her hands over her mouth in terror at the blinded fury of Bellamy Blake. “ _Bellamy_! Bellamy, stop!” She cried, but he couldn’t hear her. He only saw red — red as blood dripping down Clarkes face when he found her in her pale state, she could of drowned if he hadn’t gotten there in time, she could of died. Because of _him_. And he had the audacity to leave her like that, like a coward and come up to him acting like a respectable officer? He didn’t deserve the title.

It took about three officers to finally restrain him, pulling him off. He fought against them, his knuckles thick with blood, the veins in his neck pulsing as he shouted profanities at him. “If I ever see your fucking face anywhere near me or her I will fucking kill you! I’ll _kill_ you, you son of a bitch!” He thundered, struggling against fellow officers arms as he was helped up and moved away from the scene.

"Blake! Calm down! _Calm down_!" A fellow lieutenant ordered. Bellamy breathed heavily, his chest heaving as his heart pounded against his chest his jaw locked tight. "Get yourself together, lieutenant! These men can’t lose another leading officer!"

Bellamy shoved off the men that still held him back, their arms less resistant since he wasn’t a threat anymore. He readjusted the jacket on himself with a hard look still present on his face while the officer handed him a rag for his knuckles. The officer turned getting the people back into the life boats, repeating woman and children first as if chaos didn’t just display moments ago.

He started roughly wiping off the blood on his knuckles, turning around to see Clarke staring at him carefully.

She sighed, “Bellamy—“

"Don’t." He demanded, "I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care if I could have killed him, I fucking should have," he snarled, still wiping his hands, his actions more and more jerky and angrier.

She don’t say anything, she slowly stepped toward him. His eyes narrowed onto his hands as he wiped. The blood was practically gone, now he was wiping at nothing but his cuts and forming bruises. “He could of gotten you killed,” he murmured, his voice disappearing in his throat. “He could of taken you away from me.” He hands started to shake, and he had to blink so no tears verged thinking about how helpless he felt when he found her motionless on the ground. Thinking of what it would be like in a world without Clarke — it caused a blow of agony in his chest.

Her hands stopped his actions and he paused, relaxing at her soft touch. “But he didn’t. I’m right here.” She moved her hand up to cup the side of his face with a soft reassuring smile.

He closed his eyes leaning into her touch. “I love you.” He immediately confessed. Clarkes breath hitched at his words, “I — I think have loved you for a while now, I just didn’t accept it. I didn’t believe in it.. I never believed in love like this,” His hand rested ontop of hers. “Not until I met you. You made me realize that I could love someone just as much as my family, but in a different way. I would do anything for you Clarke, I would do anything to keep you safe. Just like I would for my mother and sister. I couldn’t — I couldn’t picture myself a day without you.”

”I want to hold you every night before you go to sleep, wipe and kiss away your tears, go out dancing to those cheesy restaurants you told me about, make love to you, every night. Make you feel as loved as you deserve, Clarke. I want you. And I’m sorry it took me almost losing you to see that.” Tears were filling in his eyes but he blinked them back because fuck he loved her so much. He loved her — she was everything to him and he wishes things could have been different. He wishes the ship wasn’t sinking, he wishes he could make her stay with him, he wishes he could make love to her one last time — but he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Tears were freely falling gently down her face, “Why do I feel like you’re saying goodbye?” she muttered.

He smiled brokenly, moving his hand from her cheek to interlock their fingers together while the other brushed away some tears with his thumb. “I wanted you to know, in case..” He trailed off. “In case anything where to happen, I can’t go through something like almost losing you again, especially not without you knowing how I truly felt.”

She shook her head, “But nothing’s going to happen to us. Me and you are going to get on that life boat and get away from here, okay? We are going to start a life together.” She smiled, both her hands holding his. Her eyes conveyed hope —desperation that he would agree with her. Assure her he was going with her, but he couldn’t.

" _You’re_ getting on it, Clarke. Not me." He affirmed and her smile faded.

Her eyes were wide with dread and fear, she couldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t. "I’m not getting on that damn thing without you in it, you hear me?" She demanded poking his chest firmly.

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Clarke, please—"

"No, you don’t get to do that to me! You don’t get to tell me how much you love me and then leave me! No! You’re not doing that Bellamy! Not to me! No!” She cried, tears starting to gather all over again, her strangled sobs forming in her throat. “You say you can’t lose me but do you really think I can lose you? Because I can’t! You’re all I have left! My fathers gone, for all I know my mothers dead, and I have nothing. But you know what? I could have nothing and have you but still be happy! I would still be happy if I still had you in my life. You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m not letting you leave me like the rest! No! You’re coming with me Bellamy Blake if I have to drag you on that fucking life boat myself because I can’t do this without you!” She sobbed, distraught. (How could he think about doing this to her? Doesn’t he understand how much he means to her? If he dies she might as well die along with him because she doesn’t want to live in a world without Bellamy Blake in it.) 

Bellamys arms caved around her, tightly. His face buried into her hair, as he kissed her temple over and over. She cried into his jacket, clutching it tightly, never wanting to let go. “I love you, I love you so much, please — please don’t leave me, I can’t lose you too.” She begged, through her grief stricken tears. 

"I love you, more than you’ll ever know," he squeezed his eyes shut, "And that’s why I have to let you go. And you have to let me go too, princess." He murmured to her, in taking her scent gently to savor her. "Do it for me," he pleaded, and she shook her head into his chest squeezing her eyes shut in denial. "Please." He pulled away to brush her hair out of her face.

He leaned his forehead against hers and she bit her lip, holding back more sobs racking in her body. Her eyes conveyed heartbreak and defeat, “Come back to me.” She pleads, her hand resting on her cheek. “If I go without you, you have to promise to come back to me." he nodded at her words, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

"Good, because if you don’t I’ll never forgive you.” The last part put a small smile on Bellamys face, a playful threat like she did earlier. It was like their thing, referring back to old things they said using them in the same context of a similar situation.

He kissed her hand, “Wouldn’t have it any other way, princess.”

She forced a smile on her face, her eyes flickering to his lips before leaning towards him capturing them with her own. She cupped his face, squeezing her eyes shut as hot tears ran down her cheeks. His hands were rested on her back side, pushing her closer to him — a pool of dread flooding his chest that she would have to leave him.

He pulled away breathlessly, their breaths meshing with each other exhaling white smoke because of the crisp air. His forehead was rested on hers again, their eyes both shut. He kissed her nose, and she couldn’t help but let a smile tilt at her lips.

"There’s room for one more! Woman or a child!" The officer ordered, after doing a head count.

Bellamy pulled away and Clarke bit her lip to hold back another sob before it escaped. "Right here!" He called to him, Clarkes hands clutching his jacket a little tighter as they started to move towards the life boat. Her legs were threatening to buckle, but Bellamys strong arms held her up.

The officer held out a hand for her to take and she stared at it, she couldn’t move, she didn’t want move; she didn’t want to leave Bellamys arms, she didn’t want to accept that this might be the last time she ever sees him. Even the thought of that made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and never let go even if people tried to pry her off.

She felt a kiss to the side of her head, an encouragement from Bellamy. Her lip trembled, and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck hugging him one last time. His hand was tucked in her hair, his face burried in her neck with the blanket still on her shoulders. “I love you.” She croaked, and his body shook against hers — and that’s when she knew he was starting to cry as well.

“I love you too.” His embrace tightened, and he reluctantly pulled away.

The officer had a sympathetic look in his eye, Bellamy nodding to him as he got on the boat himself, Bellamy wishes he could have taken his place but he was needed here to help keep order. It was his duty. He didn’t know his he could bare to watch her leave him. Leave his protection, knowing he had to trust strangers with her life.

Bellamy helped Clarke up onto the boat, his hand tightly holding hers while the other cautiously steadied her so she wouldn’t fall which made it more possible with her body shaking from the sobs wanting to break out of her like an erupting explosion.

She sat down, her hand still holding Bellamys, now stretched out across from the edge of the ship onto the life boat. She gripped his hand tightly, not wanting to let go. There was a shattered torn look in his brown distressed eyes — whirling with something she knew he tried to hide. He was scared. Scared of not only losing her, but scared for himself.

"I’ll see you soon." He promised, while she trembled her lip quivering as hot tears slid down her face, she could barley feel them anymore from crying so much. She wondered if she would ever be able to stop. He finally let go of her hand and she felt her body starting to yearn for him, she shook as they started to lower them down.

Bellamy helping by directing them to do so, but not without breaking eye contact with Clarke. The light of the flares glowed from behind him, lighting up behind him, his black curls in a white halo, like the sun did that first day — he looked just like an angel. Just as she remembered. Her breath hitched when she thought of something, " _Wait_!" She called, standing up while Bellamy quickly ordered them to stop — worried she might fall from the edge if it moved. He leaned over the edge, anger and desperation in his eyes about to ask her what the hell she was doing before she reached up, with something in her hand. He stared down at it intently, his hand slowly reaching out to grab the object. His fingers brushing over the soft fabric — her hankerchief.

Her hand caved ontop of his, making him look at her, his throat tightening. “I expect you to give this back to me.” Her mouth tilted up with a small smile though it hadn’t reached her eyes — her pleading heartbroken eyes. Flashbacks of her hair lighting in the suns rays, her smile as she laughed, her genuine kindness when he saw her help that waiter Jasper the first day he met her, the way her cheeks tinted as she blushed. Her reaction when he first returned the handkerchief. He was speechless, because fuck if he thought he couldn’t hurt more already.

”May we meet again.” She says, with a tearful smile, finally letting go, sitting back down on the boat not breaking her gaze with Bellamy. For some reason, giving him that was a comfort to her. A comfort that he would come back to her and return it like he had before.

Bellamy held the fabric between his fingers delicately, staring at it like it was a peice of his heart. A peice of Clarke — one that he would protect and keep with him until he was handing it back to her like the times before.

It was like their sealed promise of one day meeting again. 

"Sir?" An officer asked from behind him, a cautious but impatient look in his eyes because they were running out of time. His hand squeezed the fabric, placing it into his pocket.

He cleared his throat, gesturing to the sailors holding the ropes. "Take them down! Hold steady — easy — easy — " he ordered, as the boat slowly descended.

He watched Clarke the entire time, watching her lower farther and farther. His voice almost cracked as he continued to command the sailors, her practically impossible to see from the distance.

Clarkes eyes watered as he disappeared behind the edge of the ship. She shut her eyes when they hit the water, reality seeping in that she was really leaving Bellamy — and there wasn’t any going back.

Bellamy watched as the small boat with Clarke on it, made its way away from the titanic, and away from him. His hand dug inside his pocket to feel the fabric, his anxiety soothing as his fingers brushed the softness — reminding him of the softness of Clarkes skin. A reminder that he would one day, meet her again, in this life or the next. 

May we meet again.” He murmurs.

As the officer paddled the boat away, Clarke observed the ship from afar, it got smaller and smaller, and not once did Clarke break eye contact.

She carefully observed the once unsinkable ship of dreams flicker into darkness the ship falling into the deep depths of the frozen ocean with Bellamy for all she knew still on it, her world crashed around her as she knew it.

__


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (WHOLE STORY EDITED/REVISED: 10/24/17)

 Clarke was curled up with her knees to her chest as officers took down names of the survivors of the life boats.

The blanket Bellamy given her still rested on her shoulders, her eyes trained on her knees lifelessly. His smile. His eyes. His kisses. His touch. His voice. 

She may not be able to feel or hear him ever again.

She didn’t know how long she had been there, and she didn’t care. When they arrived at the closest docks, she was silent. Silent as the grave. People tried to speak to her, rubbing her shoulder in comfort — probably in sympathy at her loss but she ignored them. She was numb. As soon as she got off the life boat, she sat down with her knees tucked into her chest, buried in her grief.

She heard the life boats had gone back for more survivors that were in the ice cold water, but her hopes were low. Hundreds of lives were lost, she could barley be in the water for five minutes never the less five hours, that was if he even made off the ship to begin with, was he able to withstand the odds? Or did he sink down below with Titanic to its watery grave? So many things could of happened, so many scenarios she didn't want to think about but had to accept.

Her eyes drifted up when she saw a small silhouette standing infront of her. Her tired eyes caught a little girls, the little girl that was trapped behind the gate with her mother and father. Marcella.

She was tilting her head to the side staring at Clarke, a soft gentle look in her eyes. Clarke wanted to feel happy that she survived, that she got out just as she knew she would but she couldn’t get herself to. In fact, she only felt more broken — broken that it was a reminder that Bellamy who saved them in the first place. Because of Bellamy she survived.

Marcella then scooted a fabric off her shoulders, a jacket. She placed it comfortably on Clarke like a blanket, and Clarkes eyes filled when she realized it was Bellamys uniform that she had given to her. Marcella smiled, with such sincerity that Clarke felt like falling apart right then and there.

“It’s gonna be okay.” She whispered, her voice thick with an accent like her mother. Her big eyes were promising, like her own when she soothed the young girl those hours ago.

Her name was called, catching her attention. She looked back where her parents were talking to an officer, probably taking their names down. Her mother looking for her daughter in the sea of people. She stared at Clarke one last time, a twinkle in her eye that Clarke recognized as hope. Hope for her not to give up, hope that everything would be okay in the end if it wasn’t now. One day, she would be okay.

Clarke watched as she skipped away to her parents, which reminded her of her own mother. She’ll never know what really became of her. Clarke as far as she knew was orphaned now too.

Tears fell down her face again. She slowly gripped the fabric that belonged to Bellamy, the only thing she had left of him. She let out a sob, burying her face in it, taking in the scent and mourning over her loss.

Little did Clarke know, Bellamy was one of the few survivors lived through the deathly waters.

After hours of waiting, hours of holding onto the little life he had left, the hope to see the people he loved again made him hold on tighter.

And when he was in the hospital being treated, as soon as he woke up the first name he uttered was “Clarke.”

Clarke came rushing into the hospital days later when she was informed of a man of Bellamys description asking for her. She stopped at his door, her body shaking, her eyes wide with tears because there he was. There he was, this wasn’t a dream, he was alive. He came back to her.

Bellamy was talking to Octavia who was at his bedside when he saw her and their eyes locked. Octavia quickly took that as her cue to leave smiling to herself, with a "I'll come back later, big brother." (She knew about Clarke, Bellamy practically wouldn't stop talking about her the whole time she was there, and she was happy to give them a moment together, they deserved it.)

Bellamy sat up in his bed, grinning from ear to ear with adorning eyes, clutching her handkerchief that was crumbled gently in his grasp, it looked like it had seen better days, holding it out, finally breaking the silence, “I believe this belongs to you.”

And for the first time in days Clarke smiled.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end :) hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading!!


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